Ronin
by Emeralddusk
Summary: "Who was I kidding? I was born to kill!" Raiden one-shot character piece. Artwork By Superidot900 on Deviant Art


Metal Gear Solid

Ronin

 _It doesn't take much to draw blood. I learned that a long time ago. A blade, a sharp edge, a fall, a raw point, a scratch: that's all that's needed for blood to spill. It's not the same for the one who draws blood, though. To cut the flesh and expose blood takes something else entirely. You become something else: Something…less. It's buried, deep down inside our nature. It's the part of us most are lucky enough to never think about. The part Freud drew as the lowest point of an iceberg. It's a primal idea we all try to keep stuffed down until it tears its way to the surface. I was a child when that thing came into the light. I can't even remember the first time I killed, but I still get images. We were child soldiers deployed by private and national militias with their own intentions. My father gave me up, even before he sold me to the animals in suits. I knew what it was like to be hated, to be hungry, to be alone on both inside and out. Then came the drugs, the speeches, the torture porn, the training, and the objective. At first, they started me off with a knife. I don't know if my target was a bag of flour or a spy for the other side. Either way, I learned from that knife: Felt its cold exterior: Felt it grow warm with my own body heat. Once they saw I could be controlled (never trusted), they moved me up to the gun. I kept the knife, though. The gun was different from the knife. The gun had no warmth, no touch, and no contact with the other body. Just a squeeze of the trigger, a jolt, a blast, and the witnessing of a death. One turns to many within seconds._

 _I was a child. When I was supposed to be learning and growing, when others were going to school, playing with friends, or going home to family, I was learning how to kill and cover it up! They were molding me into something terrible. In my nightmares, the one place I can never hide, I can still taste the hot, lead-tainted blood splashing into my mouth and burning my tongue. I wake up screaming some nights. Not only was I a killer, but I was the best. I was called a revelation by others. Stories and vague memories in dreams tell me I've killed entire towns in a single day. I was so afraid to piece all those images together, but after I did, and I had one of my first panic attacks, I tried to convince myself it was a town filled with drug dealers, pimps, and criminals. I tried to tell myself I was like Wolverine, somehow acting out of some extreme morality. But I know I wasn't. There were unarmed men, women, …children in those towns. And my fellow "soldiers" and commanders loved me, gave me nicknames like White Devil, or my worst nightmare: Jack the Ripper. For me, all that meant was food and a bed to sleep in that night. All that killing, it didn't snuff out my anger. It just made it grow. But it felt good to kill. No, not just to kill, but to strike down my enemies. That's what terrifies me. I can't escape that._

 _Jack was the name my bastard father gave me. For years, I put it away. When I woke up one morning as a grown man somewhere no one looks in the middle of New York, I thought I could take on my old name again. Looking back now, I probably could have. They don't call me Jack anymore, though. I chose the name Raiden when I realized my heart rested in Japan. It translates to something like "Lightning" and "God Spirits". A dear friend once told me that I was the lightning during the storm on my "birth"-day. I am Raiden. I am lightning. I was young when I met Rose. I was a better form of Jack when I met Rose. What a coincidence: Jack and Rose. I saw Titanic once. It tells the story of star-crossed lovers who come together for a brief instant. They were separated by outside forces. Rose and I were separated because of what I had inside. Neither of us saw it at first, then the nightmares started. We couldn't sleep together for her safety. They've always said a night-terror is only painful on those around the victim, who wakes up with no memory or idea of what had happened. They were wrong. Breaking all the rules of her medical and psychological training, Rose ran to me, held me tightly from behind to give me comfort and stop my arms from thrashing, forced me to be still, and sang to me until I woke up. When my eyes opened, I was sitting up in my bed with a selfless and frightened woman I thought I'd met through destiny. I could never forget the look of fear on her face._

 _I live alone now. I thought I could leave the war behind and try to just live my life again, but I was wrong. The war is inside me: It always has been. Maybe I was a soldier. That's not what scared me, though. My greatest fear was my pleasure. It felt good to kill, punish, or slaughter. When I was a child, I had no control, save artificial loyalty to my commanding officers. I'd never object to orders, even if those orders were to kill a POW camp or another member of my team. When I was an adult, I tried to swallow my anger, even in battle. I told myself I was defending the weak, but I feel like that was a lie made up to protect myself. My fear: I could kill the world. Most children who harbor anger like I had got help or just gave up on fighting. Those without strength or power have no choice but to lay down their arms. Unfortunately, I was made one of the strongest in the world. Nothing could ever force me to put down the blade, no matter how much I wanted it to. I never lost my strength. It only grew and spread like a cancer. I had to find something to contain or just focus my rage. It made sense to adopt the way of the samurai in a new and technological age: The samurai were bold, selfless individuals who gave their lives before death just for the sake of helping the weak. They had nothing but their swords, training, and honor. I was nineteen when I got the surgeries and implants that turned me into what I was always destined to be: A killing machine. I had everything, so the only way to become more was to throw it all away. Within years, I became the star pupil of my sensei, and inherited her ancient blade. But every time she looked at me, her sorrow seemed to grow. She knew who I was deep inside. She knew what I'd have to face down to stop myself from becoming that thing again. Still, she did all she could. The truth is, there will always be wars. If they're not physical, then they're inside. For that reason, I am a Ronin: A samurai without a master or cause. I have no country, no nationality, and no race to hold onto. Even alone, I follow a moral code. Sometimes, to follow the greater goal of that code, I have to break it, no matter how much it pains me. My life isn't about me. It's about everything else. For that reason, I cannot, will not die._

 _I still taste your breath in my mouth, Rose. Still smell your perfume when I fall asleep. Still remember your face when I cry. Still hear your song when I'm afraid. I love you, Rose. That's why I have to stay away._


End file.
